Suitcase By The Door
by XXforget-x-me-x-notXX
Summary: “I did try, Wendy. You have no idea. I loved you, too, but... I look at you now, and... Well, to be frank, I can't stand you. What you did... It was unforgivable."
1. Flash Forward 1

**Random and slightly pointless introduction: **So I seriously just got bored and was having writer's block with... well, with all my other stories. I started writing a new one, which, in retrospect, really doesn't solve my problem. But anyways... enjoy and please review :)

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**FLASHFORWARD**

"Stan! Please, I'm begging you, don't... don't do this..." Wendy ran over, tears streaming down her face. She grabbed the doorknob from me and pushed the door closed. "I love you, Stan, I really do. Please, just keep trying, we can make this work..."

I let go of the door and sighed, dropping my suitcase. "I did try, Wendy. You have no idea. I loved you, too, but... I look at you now, and... Well, to be frank, I can't stand you. What you did... It was unforgivable," I said, coldly and quietly.

Her periwinkle eyes widened with shock and she moved away from the door. "You never really let me talk to you about it," she murmured. "I really think we can fix this... Maybe we can go to counseling or something... Please, don't give up Stan, you mean the world to me. I really want this to work. Just... let's try to talk... Please..."

I closed my eyes briefly. Her voice was getting so weak, it was so unlike her. When I opened my eyes again, she had crumbled onto the floor. "Wendy, what do you want me to do? What do you want from me?"

She looked up at me with huge, sad eyes. "I just want you, Stan..."

"I'm sorry," I replied, unable to look her in the eyes. "I just can't pretend any more. Goodbye, Wendy."

I picked up my things and walked out to my car, not looking back, no matter how many times Wendy shouted my name.


	2. Present Day 1

**Random and slightly pointless introduction: **So, second chapter. Don't worry, the entire story will not just be Stan and Wendy fighting. But anyways... Please review ^_^

Oh, and one more thing, in case you haven't noticed- the time period of the chapters will switch around a bit- like last chapter was a flashforward and this one is present day.

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**PRESENT DAY **

I sat on the couch lifelessly, glaring blankly at the TV. I'm not really sure what I was watching. My hand was clenched around a beer bottle.

My wife of three years tiptoed over a sat delicately next to me. "Hi, Stan," she said quietly. "I'm sorry about... Well, you know..."

I shot her a hateful look. "No, you're not," I spat through my teeth. "It's your fault he's dead anyway!"

She let out a little gasp. "How could you say something like that?"

I stood up abruptly, looming over her. "Because it's true!" I shouted.

She stood up, too, but I was still able to tower over her. She was so tiny. I knew that if I were the violent type, I would hit her as hard as I could. Instead, I turned away and stormed into the kitchen to get another beer.

"Stan! We have to talk about this!" She called after me, and I could hear her walking after me swiftly.

I turned around sharply, and she nearly ran into me. "Talk about _what _exactly?" I growled, gulping down the alcohol.

She suddenly looked meek. "Well, about... Him. About the two of you. About what you were together."

"Oh? And what were we, Wendy?" I shot back, hitting the wall, my voice dripping with sarcasm and hate. "Since, you know, you seem to think you know more about him and more about me than I do!"

She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples in exasperation. "Stan, listen-"

"No, _you _listen. Just think for a moment of what you're accusing me of!" I put my hand on her shoulder and rubbed it gently, something I used to do every time I told her I loved her. She stiffened, remembering this. "It's like you're telling me you never thought I loved you."

She blinked a few times, but didn't say anything. I drew my hand back and sighed. "But I did, Wendy. I loved you so much," I said, walking away.

"Did?" She asked, and I stopped in my tracks. "As in, not anymore?"

I hesitated. "That's right." And I walked upstairs without thinking about wether or not that comment hurt her.

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The next day, I woke to no one sleeping next to me. I felt slightly uneasy about this and walked down the stairs, only to find that Wendy had slept on the couch. She woke up slowly to the sound of my footsteps. "Stan?" she mumbled sleepily.

I didn't respond; I just walked into the kitchen. I heard her light footsteps following me with caution. Was she afraid of me or something?

I felt her hands caress my shoulders and I turned around. She was lounged across the counter, her hair only slightly messy, falling around her face in a sexy way. Her makeup hadn't been smudged from yesterday, and she was wearing a lacy little nighty that matched her eyes. She pushed the straps off her shoulders slightly and leaned forward a bit with a little pout. "Come to bed?" she murmured, stroking my cheek with her delicate hand.

For a second- just a second- I was hypnotized. But then I grabbed her wrist and pushed it away, my eyes gleaming. I slammed the fridge after pulling out a large bottle of vodka and walked upstairs, refusing to reply to her.

She rushed after me. "Oh, the silent treatment, Stan? That's nice, real mature," she spat indignantly. I knew she wasn't really mad about that. She was mad that I was hateful enough to resist her. But that bit of knowledge didn't stop that comment from rubbing me the wrong way. I turned around and stomped back down the stairs.

"Oh, that's immature? You have so many stupid little insecurities and uncertainties about things that you had to ruin the only thing that was real in my life to see if you had anything to _worry about? _If anyone here needs to grow up, Wendy, _it's you!" _I yelled, my face inches away from hers.

She looked up at me, and I noticed how wide her eyes had gotten. She looked like a kitten, with her pretty, innocent round eyes, trembling lip, and graceful movements. It almost made me feel guilty for a moment,since she looked so helpless. "Stan, that wasn't the only real thing in you life... You had me."

I scoffed at that and looked her straight in the eyes. "Whatever we had, Wendy... It wasn't real. I thought it was, until you decided to go sleep around with other guys like the slut you are just to prove a fucking _point._"

"That's not fair..." She said, looking down to the side. It's this thing she always does when she's hurt or when she feels like she's losing. I'm not sure which one it was this time.

"Oh, isn't it?" I said sarcastically and coldly.

Her eyes narrowed. "No, it's _not _fair. You never put me first in you life, not once! What was I supposed to think? I'm your wife, Stan! I'm not just some girl you picked up off the street!" Her voice had a desperation in it that begged me to tell her that she was always the most important thing in my life. But I wasn't going to lie to her.

"Like you ever put me first!" I yelled right back. "You had Bebe, you had your dad, your sister, even your dog... How are you supposed to ask me to put you first?"

She looked taken aback. "But with Bebe... That's- It's just different, Stan."

"How?" I said, my voice nearly squeaking with frustration. "Please- Explain to me how it was different at all!"

"With... With him, the two of you... It was unnatural. You guys... You were never just friends..." she whispered slowly.

"Of course we weren't just friends! He and I were as close as two people could get. He was like a brother to me," I said defiantly, with a harsh glare.

"I-I know that you always say that... But... Stan, when he called you-" she stuttered meekly.

"Shut up! Don't you dare bring that up!" I interrupted loudly, smashing my fists angrily into the wall, making Wendy jump.

She backed away. "Stan, calm down, I'm sorry."

I rubbed my knuckles as they stung from the shock. "It-it's okay, Wends. Just... Sorry. I'm, uh... I'm gonna stay at Ken's place tonight, okay?"

She nodded slowly. "Okay..."

"I guess I'll, um, see you at some point tomorrow..." I said, unable to look her in the eyes. I walked upstairs slowly to get my things.


	3. Present Day 2

**Random and slightly pointless introduction: **Short chapter, I know. I'm sorry. It took me this long to update, and this is all you get. I'm sorry. Again. I'll try to update the next chapter soon.

I knocked on the door to Kenny's apartment- hard, because otherwise he wouldn't hear it.

A few moments later, Kenny opened the door, smoking a cigarette, wearing no shoes, a torn up pair of jeans, and no shirt. "Bebe just left," he explained. Bebe was kind of, more or less his girlfriend. Or at least the closest thing to a girlfriend Kenny could handle having.

"I assumed," I replied. There was a brief moment of silence before I said, "Wendy and I are fighting."

"I assumed," he said back, moving so I could come in. "So... What happened?"

I shrugged. "Well, Ken, she's a bitch."

He threw me a beer from the kitchen. "You're still pissed about the thing with Kyle," he said bluntly.

I winced. "How can I not be?"

"Try," he said, his voice exasperated. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Look, if it had been just her cheating on me, I'd be able to get over it," I shot back. "But we both know it was more than just that."

Kenny was quiet for a minute. "You can't really blame her for _that _aspect of it... Ky-"

"Look, I'm not interested in talking about this," I interrupted, clenching and unclenching my fists.

"Don't you think you should? Seriously, Stan. I mean, I only know what you told me about it, but from what I know I really think you should talk- calmly and _soberly _about it with Wendy. She knows what she did was wrong, and I know she didn't mean for it to end up like this."

"Look, Ken," I said sharply. "I'm sure she didn't want it to end up like this, but you know what, it did, and it's because of what she did."

"You can't just put all the blame on her," Kenny's voice rose a bit with desperation.

"Fuck you, Kenny. I'll just go stay at Cartman's." I shot him a glare.

"You're kidding, right?" Kenny replied, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

"See you later, I guess," I said, slamming the door behind me.

By the time I got to Cartman's place, it was getting dark. I rang the doorbell, and it took several minutes for anyone to reply.

Eric Cartman answered the door, in all his rich glory. I don't know how he got so rich or so giant, but sometime after high school, he grew until he was 6 foot 4, easily, and worked out so much that he didn't look all that much thinner, but instead of fat, it was all muscle, and got tons of money. I don't want to know how he got so loaded. It's better not to ask.

Cartman crossed his huge arms and leaned against the doorway. "Well, well, well. What's happened, fag? You're little bitch kicked you out?"

"We were fighting. I didn't want to sleep there tonight," I mumbled in reply.

"And you're not at Kenny's place because...?" Cartman asked.

"I don't know, he kept trying to talk about what happened with Kyle," I told him.

"Well, alright, then. Why didn't you go stay with Butters?"

"Butters lives with his parents."

"What about Craig?"

"Craig is in Oregon."

"Oh, right... What about Tweek?"

"Tweek's apartment was infested with rats. He's staying with Clyde."

"Okay, why didn't you go there then?"

"Clyde doesn't have anymore room."

"What about Ike?"

"Ike? Seriously? He's across the state."

"Yeah, so?"

"Jesus Christ, Cartman, can't I just come in?" I said, really, really annoyed at this point.

"Fine, ungrateful," he said, moving aside. The inside of his house was all shiny and clear and expensive-looking. You could tell this was Cartman's house. "Go up the stairs, second door on the left. That's one of the guest rooms."

"One of the?" I replied, disbelief sprinkling my words.

"Impressive, right?" he said back.

I went up the stairs, to the second door on the left. Cartman called up after me, "If you want any food or something, come down in half an hour."

I said thanks down the stairs and slipped into the room.


	4. Present Day 3

**Random and slightly pointless introduction: **I'm sorry I'm terrible at updating. I'll try to be better but no promises.

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I walked down the stairs after about forty-five minutes of staring at the guest room in awe. The walls were white, and all of the objects in the room were black. Including the fucking flat screen TV. Jesus Christ, that Cartman was rich. There was a computer in the room, too. And a bathroom. With the biggest bathtub I have ever seen. Damn, he's rich.

Anyway, when I got down, it took me a minute to find the kitchen. The kitchen was the only colorful part of the house. The rest of it was all black and white, like my room, and completely clean. The kitchen had sunny yellow walls, orange trim, and dark red tile. The counters were off-white, and the cupboards were lime green. The only thing that matched the rest of the house was the black fridge.

Of course, the thing in the kitchen I found the most weird was Cartman himself. He had a rag slung over his shoulder while he cooked eggs and bacon and pancakes. He didn't notice me for a minute, but when he did, I only got more confused. "Hey, Stan," he greeted with a freaking smile. "Hope you don't mind having breakfast for dinner."

"Not at all, dude..." I said slowly. "Why don't you have a cook do this?"

Cartman shrugged. "A cook would be here a lot. I'm not fond of people."

"I see..."

"Plus, I like cooking. It mellows me out," he replied, glancing at me with a grin.

"I can see that," I chuckled.

"So remind me, why didn't you stay at Ken's place? Isn't he your new best friend or something?" he asked.

"I don't have a new best friend. No one can replace Kyle," I said sharply.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Stan. Sorry." Cartman rolled his eyes.

"I didn't stay at his place, because he insisted on trying to force me to talk about what happened with Kyle, and I just... I can't deal with that shit right now. Wendy keeps trying to get me to discuss it with her, and I just needed to get away from that."

"Wendy's a bitch. No offense."

"None taken, she is," I laughed, sitting down on stool by the counter. It felt weird talking to Cartman about all of this, but it's not like I had anyone else at this point.

"Not to be pushy or anything, but seriously, what actually happened? No one really filled me in on all of this," he said, almost bitterly.

"Well, Wendy slept with Kyle."

"Yeah, I got that. How did Kyle die again?"

I got a bit tense at that. "Alcohol mixed with pills."

"Was it a suicide or not? I've heard both, so..."

My throat started to close with guilty nervousness. "No one knows."

"And what did him dying have to do with Wendy?"

"Look, maybe I should just go, there's probably room at Clyde's..." I said, getting up. "You don't want my here anyway..."

"Sorry, too many questions, I got it," Cartman said with an apologetic smile. "And, um, it's not that I don't, um, want you here... I'm just not used to having company..."

I gave a little chuckle and there was a short and slightly awkward silence. I was tempted to do the "awkward turtle" thing, but I didn't for fear of getting punched. Or stabbed. There were a lot of knives in his kitchen.

"So how do you like your eggs?"

I smiled. "Scrambled with a ridiculous amount of butter."

We actually had a fairly nice time. Cartman and I always got along fine when Kenny and Kyle weren't around. As I fell asleep in his ridiculous guest room, I almost wondered how Wendy was before I stopped myself, telling myself over and over again that I didn't care how she was. I thought maybe if I told myself enough times, it would become true.


	5. Present Day 4

**Random and slightly pointless introduction: **So sorry I'm not posting that much, but here's a half-assed short chapter not even in the right POV.

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I heard some light tapping on my door (ridiculously early, I think it was nine). I rolled off my mattress and onto the floor before lazily getting up. I walked to the door and opened it up, hardly awake at all. My eyes weren't even fully opened.

"Why the fuck are people awake this early?" I mumbled, half to myself and half to the person at the door.

Wendy sniffled. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ken. I, um, I just wanted to talk to Stan..."

That woke me up a bit. I opened my eyes completely and saw the petite figure of Wendy Marsh. She was wearing a knee-length purple dress and little black heels. Her hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, and her big cat-eyes had minimal amounts of eye-liner around them. She was looking down, but I could tell she was crying.

"Stan's not here. He said he went to Cartman's place," I responded softly.

"Oh..." she said quietly. "Well, um, can I come in?"

"Sure," I said, moving away from the door to let her in. "Are you okay?"

She sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'm fine, I just... Why didn't Stan stay here?"

"He was annoyed with me. I was trying to talk to him about Kyle," I replied.

"So... he went to Cartman's?"

I shrugged. "That's what he told me."

"But... He doesn't get along with Cartman. No one gets along with Cartman."

"That's actually not true. Cartman and Stan got along fine just the two of them. Don't you remember when they broke the beaver dam?"

She shook her head and didn't say anything.

"Well, I guess you'll want to go there then. Do you need directions?"

"Um, actually, Ken, can I just stay here for a while?" she murmured, her voice cracking a little, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

"Of course," I said, and I could hear the sympathy in my voice. "Do you need anything?"

"Stan hates me," she whispered, almost in a little-girl voice.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Oh, honey, you know that's not true."

"It is, though," she sniffled, slipping her fingers under her eyes to flick away the tears.

"No, no. Wendy, nothing you do could ever make that boy hate you. He's loved you since elementary school."

"I was so stupid..." She put her face into her palms. I led her to a chair, and sat down on another chair in front of her.

"You were insecure. You handled it wrong, sure, but it's still understandable."

"It's my fault Kyle's dead..." She had mumbled it so quietly, I barely heard it.

"Don't say that. No one could've ever predicted that it would all end up like this. Don't blame yourself," I said softly, putting my arm on her shoulder.

"Stan blames me," she replied.

"No, he doesn't. He's just really upset about Kyle's death. He just needs to point fingers for a while. It's all work out soon," I replied gently.

"How do you know?" she asked, looking up at me, her eyes wide.

"You and Stan- Your relationship is bulletproof. You two have been together for as long as I can remember. You'll make it through this, I swear."

"How can you be so sure about this, Ken?"

"Just trust me on this, Wendy, you two were made for each other."

"How could he ever forgive me for this, though? I killed his best friend," she said, her voice tainted with guilt.

"No, no, you didn't, Wendy. Don't say that," I replied quickly.

She looked right into my eyes intensely. "Kenny, can you actually look me in the eyes and tell me you truly believe that Kyle's death wasn't at all my fault?"

She paused for a reply, but I couldn't give her one. I broke from her gaze to look at the floor. She gave a cold laugh. "That's what I thought." She got up and walked to the door.

"Wait-" I called after her, but she had already slammed the door.


End file.
